The Labelled Age
by PrincessEarth
Summary: It's 2058, and brands have taken over the world. Few have escaped the brainwashing process - but a small, motley band of survivors may have the key to defeating the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger. With the help of some magic numbers, can they save the world?
1. A Web of Brands

**Disclaimer:** All of the brands and characters (Tommy Hilfiger, the Nesquik Bunny, etc.) are not my property. _No Logo_ belongs to Naomi Klein, as do the chapter names and the ideas involved.

**A/N: **This is a _very_ crazy "short" story I wrote for an English reading journal in response to Naomi Klein's non-fiction book, _No Logo_. Seriously, I can't believe I actually handed it in to my teacher. He's going to think I'm a nutcase. Anyway, if that hasn't put you off, here's the deal: You don't need to have read _No_ _Logo_ for this to make sense. Hell, it doesn't even make sense on its own. The chapters here line up with the chapters in the book, but they're so loosely related that it doesn't matter. I'm counting on about... oh, 0% of you having read _No Logo_, so I wouldn't have posted this if understanding it were completely dependent on having read the book. Anyway, enjoy. And don't say I didn't warn you about the undisguised lunacy.

* * *

**The Label****led Age:  
**_The Saga of the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger  
__and those intent on his destruction_

_The following takes place fifty-two years beyond this day and age, when the world is no longer in the hands of humanity; when life itself has been extinguished by the concept of branding, which has grown to such an extent that living beings have become nothing more than walking, talking brands. It is a time when no person and no inanimate object exists that has not conformed to the very shape of the world's largest names._

_This time has come to be known as the Label__l__ed Age._

_But there are few left to experience it. The word 'brainwashed' has taken on an utterly different meaning after all that__ branding__ ha__s__ done to the world. Only the creators of this new world still have the minds to which they are rightfully entitled – the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger (some may have known him simply as "Tommy" at one time), Master __R__onald McDonald, the somewhat pathetic Nesquik Bunny, Connie the Shoemaker,__and many more. These masterminds took up residence long ago in a highly protected lair in an exceptionally secret location. 'Hilfiger's Lair,' this impenetrable base has been (oh so originally) named, though by who, it is impossible to tell._

_Fear not, my friends, for there is still hope, however minimal it may be. A small assembly of resistors still lives in the sewers of North America, struggling to live the unbranded life... There is little they can do to fight the onslaught of swoosh-sporting zombies in the outside world. Recently, however, the band of survivors has acquired an omen of sorts – a little black instruction book left to them as a series of warnings and clues many years ago by a mysterious Naomi Klein..._

* * *

**INTRODUCTION: A WEB OF BRANDS**

It was only two weeks ago that Mrs Klein's magic book fell from the ceiling. Well, that was more of an estimate, seeing as we had no way of measuring time from down in the sewers. It was a cruel world out there. Straying from our safe haven would have been very dangerous indeed – we'd already lost two of our friends to Lord Hilfiger's wrath, and we didn't intend to decrease our numbers any further.

I sat on a dilapidated rock in a corner, flipping through the first pages of the book. Two of my companions, Keith and Karen, were arguing nearby.

"I'm tired of livin' in this filthy place!" Despite three years of isolation, Karen's Texan accent was still thick.

"You know we've got no choice!"

"Don't we? We don't gotta lose our brains if we go up there. If we just tried talkin' civilly to the Masters..."

"The _Masters_? What is _with _you, Karen? And besides, there's no such thing as civil where Hilfiger is concerned. The minute we set foot on branded ground when they're looking, they'll gas us or something. And that's it. Poof. How many times have we gone through this?"

Karen practically growled. "Too many. All of yous aren't seein' the truth! We go out there every fortnight without trouble for food 'n' things. I don't like livin' with them stinkin' rats! I _need_ a shower and some proper clothes!" Her voice was growing irritatingly whiny.

Our oldest resident, Dweezil, stepped in. "All you need is a swift kick in the pants, young lady! I'll have none of your nonsense about talking to Hilfiger."

Karen let out a high-pitched "Humph!" and stalked over to a makeshift bench (fashioned from who knows what – it's hard to know what you're dealing with when you live in a barely-lit sewage system) to sit down next to dark-haired Bella.

Dweezil stalked off into the shadows, using his flimsy walking stick for support.

Keith turned his sapphire eyes on me. "How's the deciphering going, Clover?"

My name, of course, had been a gift from my brand-obsessed parents, who had succumbed along with one of the earliest waves of followers. Keith and Marshall, another of our friends, had found me in hiding, and brought me to their hideout. I was fifteen then, and I'd been here ever since. It had to have been at least four years.

I turned the open book toward Keith so that he could see. "I'm still not sure what she's getting at here. 'A Web of Brands'? Does that make any sense to you?"

Keith leaned in a little, squinting at the words under the dull light filtered through the overhead sewer grate.

"Wow, is that really what the world used to be like? Lakes, warehouses, smokestacks..." He shook his head in astonishment.

The words in this book were, in fact, unfamiliar to all of us. Mrs Klein's world was very different to our own in every possible way – the sense of community (no Starbucks involved), the natural sights, the not-quite-converted education system, the real _people_... It seemed to me, from reading the first parts of her book, that she didn't realise just how lucky she and her generation actually were. But even then, the Labelled Age was well on its way, and she seemed to be fully aware of that fact. With observations so ahead of her time, some might call Mrs Klein a seer, even.

The first step Hilfiger and his clan took was to join forces with all the big brands out there, creating an even more indestructible force. At this stage branding was already becoming so powerful that the product was no longer a necessity for their images – more of an add-on, really. Hilfiger himself stopped making products altogether in the late 2030s. He and the others already had the world at their feet – what more could they possibly ask for? From there they continued to manipulate the minds of humans, building their confidence in brands ever higher, controlling them like robots from their top secret location. The brainless 'humans' that were left after all that time, evidently, didn't even _care_ about the meanings of brands, and the brands themselves, it seemed, had reached the limit of their extraordinariness. There was nothing left for Hilfiger and his posse to do on Earth. Rumour had it he was searching the universe for other life forms on which to unleash his wrath. I sympathised tremendously for those poor souls.

Over the years of Hilfiger's toying with life on our planet, many changes were made. Every living being was required to add a "Mc" to their first and last names, resulting in many unoriginal "McJohn McSmiths" and a few pitiable "McMac"s among others. Then came the Window Pane Revolution, as they called it (they never did come up with any original names, but I supposed there were few left to be awed by creativity, anyway), when every window on every building was painted – one panel yellow, one green, one red and one blue. Not too much later, it became law for every apple in the supermarket to have a bit taken out of it before sale, mimicking the Apple logo. How did we know all this? Brand FM, of course. Another highly original name.

To ensure that the brainwashing process was infallible, Hilfiger and co. took over the schools, too. From preschool to their university graduation (and beyond), children were learning of nothing but brands, brands and more brands. It was no wonder they couldn't break free of the cycle when they were introduced to it so dreadfully early.

I snapped back to the present. Keith took the book from me and turned over a few pages. His eyes scanned them thoughtfully.

It was then that Dweezil came out of his hiding spot, eyes closed, arms outstretched. Oh, great – he was in one of his trances again.

"One, three, four..." he chanted drunkenly, "one, three, four..."

"Oh, shut up, you ol' bat." Karen had lost every ounce of patience she might once have possessed. "You sound like one of the creeps on that old TV show – Lost, or whatever." Several others groaned at the mention of the seemingly never-ending series from the early 2000s.

"Hey, I liked that show!" shouted Marshall, defensive. I had to admit, I agreed with him to some extent; it _had_ been pretty epic. And there were barely any brands to speak of on that island. What more could you ask for?

Dweezil staggered into a rocky wall and crumpled to the ground.

"Somebody get his medication," Keith instructed. Bella hurried to one of our makeshift shelves and pulled out a syringe. With a little help from Marshall in the form of restraint, she managed to calm Dweezil down.

"What was that all about?" Marshall asked, standing up.

"I don't know," I answered, shaking my head. "Just one of his usual episodes, I guess."

Suddenly, there was a scratching sound from above our heads.

"RUN!" Karen shrieked.

"NO! Stay where you are!" Keith's voice was commanding. "Everybody get down. It's HILFIGER!"

We all crouched into the sodden ground, holding our breaths and fearing the worst.

Could Hilfiger really have found us? Keith and Marshall had specially chosen this "prime" location for its utter brandlessness – after all, what could be more generic than an underground sewage system? Hilfiger was only able to keep tabs on all things branded – there was absolutely no way he could find us here. Or was there?

Then, a ball of fur fell from the ceiling.

We all braced ourselves, waiting for it to morph into the shape of the evil Nesquik Bunny or suddenly explode before our very eyes, but nothing happened.

Marshall was the first to move. "Aw, look! It's a cute little kitty cat!" He trudged over to the thing – looking at it now, I could see it really was a cat – and scooped it up in his arms. "I'll bet it's lost. Can we keep it? Please, Keith? Aw, you're such a cute kit-hey! OW! Stop it! That HURTS!" Just as suddenly as the thing had fallen into our hideout, it started scratching Marshall from head to toe, suddenly intent on ripping his clothing and flesh to smithereens. Marshall howled in pain as the creature attacked him, but made no move in self defense.

"Really, Marshall," Keith shook his head in disapproval, stepped forward, and ripped the beast off of Marshall's face in one easy movement. The cat leapt gracefully onto the ground, where it stalked a few paces away before turning to face us all. Its body went into a series of spasms; it looked like it might be choking on something.

"What's it doing?" Bella wondered.

"Filthy mongrel!" Karen spat.

The cat coughed up a hairball, which rolled across the ground to end up at our feet.

"See?" Marshall said, blood oozing from several wounds on his face. "I told you it was harmless. Poor kitty just had a hairball!" He started toward the 'kitty' again.

"Hold it, Marshall," I said, putting a hand out to stop him. "Look."

Where I pointed, the cat's hairball was rapidly changing colour. Blue, red and white swirled incessantly for a few moments, and then the colours settled to form a familiar logo – that made famous by Pepito the Pepsi Prince.

"Oh no," Keith said in a tone of despair, "it's a tracking device."

"I'm done for!" Karen wailed, kneeling and clutching at Keith's sweatshirt. "My life is over!" Keith shook her off, and she fell to the ground, whimpering stupidly.

Like a true hero, Keith stepped forward and addressed the tiny device. "Tell us, Evil One, what brings you here?"

The spherical object split open, and a robotic voice came from within. "Greetings, scum. Your rebel base has been discovered by the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger. In forty-eight hours the Brand Force will begin the cleansing process on your soiled minds. However, the Masters have seen fit to give you one last trial. Be at Hilfiger's Lair before your time is up and Master Hilfiger may spare you. Goodbye."

The Pepsi logo shot up into the air, and the cat followed it, hissing and spitting as it was sucked up by some unseen force. When both were gone, it took us all a few moments to gather our bearings. Karen was still howling on the ground, muttering incoherently every few seconds about "shattered dreams" and "eternal doom." I couldn't help but think she was being just a _bit_ of a drama queen...

"We've been discovered." Bella was staring at the ground with a blank expression on her face. "How could this happen?"

Marshall shrugged. Keith was staring at Marshall's backside in horror.

"MARSHALL..." Keith's tone was livid, threatening. Marshall whimpered and stepped backward.

"What'd I do now?"

"Let us see your back pocket, please."

Marshall turned hesitantly around, and we all gasped – there, on his pocket, was a very clear "Everlast" logo.

"Will somebody PLEASE tell me what is going on?" Marshall begged, holding his hands up as if in surrender.

"Logo," Bella said simply, and Marshall groaned.

"Dang it! I forgot to rip it off when we stole them from Wal-Mart."

"That would be how the trackers found us." Keith's tone was matter-of-fact.

We were all silent.

"So what do we do now?" I asked quietly.

Karen stood up. "We give in to Hilfiger, of course! It's our only hope!"

"Oh, get a grip!" Keith said, rolling his eyes.

"Stop being such a sissy," Marshall threw in. Karen glared at him, and he cowered away from her.

"One thing's for sure," Keith announced, raising a hand triumphantly, "we will _not_ play into the hands of the enemy. We _will_ find a way to save ourselves – and the rest of humanity – if it's the last thing we do. I can feel it, my companions – this is the day. It is time to conquer the mighty Brands."

Despite the cliché and lack of sense in his words, we all burst into an appreciative round of applause – all except for Karen. Oh, and Dweezil. Speaking of Dweezil...

"Oi, young scallywags!"

The harsh voice alerted us to his waking. He hobbled over to us, eyeing us with his one good eye.

"What is it, Dweezil?" I asked, holding a hand out to steady him. He shook it off.

"Glad to be seein' you're finally understandin' what needs to be done." He nodded gruffly, muttering to himself, then spoke up again. "Now if yeh just trust the magic numbers..."

"Please, Dweezil, none of your nonsense today." Keith was doubtful.

"Oh, you won' be sayin' that once I'm done with yeh!" Dweezil shook his cane in front of Keith's face, silencing the younger man. "Now, you've got to hear this from me. Tha' book that fell from the 'eavens, it holds them secrets."

"What secrets?" Marshall was awed already.

"_Them _secrets," Dweezil clarified with a wink. "The Web. It's an ancient story – dates back to the 1990s. That's what holds the Brands together – the Web. Almost like spiders – nah, _exactly_ like spiders. Hilfiger an' his gang are the spiders that spun the Web, an' all them innocent humans are their prey. Yeh followin'?"

We all shook our heads dumbly, but Dweezil went on anyway.

"Glad ta hear it. Now, what yeh need to understand is this – people who's been livin' in isolation as long as we 'ave, they're different. We're the other spiders, the ones who grown immune to webs. We gots a sticky resistance on our feet, so we can't be bothered. Still gettin' it all?"

The response was, once again, negative.

"Super. So the key to it all is this... to defeat 'Ilfiger, we needs to break the Web. Take out the weakest link an' it breaks the 'ole cycle, yeh see. Yeh get where I'm goin'?"

Another no.

"Splendid. Then le'ss get to work."

* * *

**A/N:** See? Lunacy. Just... think of it more as a character study, and some of my credibility might be spared. Also, I'd like to point out that I ADORE Lost - so pay no attention to the part where some of the characters "groan at the mention of it". I was just... expressing popular opinion of the time. Also, forgive Dweezil his ramblings; I know they're hard to comprehend, but that's kind of the point. So anyway, reviews would be nice, but realistically, it's not like I'm going to get any - so you have absolutely no expectations to live up to. Thanks for reading!


	2. New Branded World

**Disclaimer: **All of the brands and characters (Tommy Hilfiger, the Nesquik Bunny, etc.) are not my property. _No Logo_ belongs to Naomi Klein, as do the chapter names and the ideas involved.

**A/N: **This is a _very_ crazy "short" story I wrote for an English reading journal in response to Naomi Klein's non-fiction book, _No Logo_. Seriously, I can't believe I actually handed it in to my teacher. He's going to think I'm a nutcase. Anyway, if that hasn't put you off, here's the deal: You don't need to have read _No_ _Logo_ for this to make sense. Hell, it doesn't even make sense on its own. The chapters here line up with the chapters in the book, but they're so loosely related that it doesn't matter. I'm counting on about... oh, 0% of you having read _No Logo_, so I wouldn't have posted this if understanding it were completely dependent on having read the book. Anyway, enjoy. And don't say I didn't warn you about the undisguised lunacy.

Also, I apologise for the dodgy formatting of this chapter. Everything worked for the others, but for some reason it all decided to go haywire on this one.

* * *

**The Label****led Age:  
**_The Saga of the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger  
__and those intent on his destruction_

_The following takes place fifty-two years beyond this day and age, when the world is no longer in the hands of humanity; when life itself has been extinguished by the concept of branding, which has grown to such an extent that living beings have become nothing more than walking, talking brands. It is a time when no person and no inanimate object exists that has not conformed to the very shape of the world's largest names._

_This time has come to be known as the Label__l__ed Age._

_But there are few left to experience it. The word 'brainwashed' has taken on an utterly different meaning after all that__ branding__ ha__s__ done to the world. Only the creators of this new world still have the minds to which they are rightfully entitled – the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger (some may have known him simply as "Tommy" at one time), Master Ronald McDonald, the somewhat pathetic Nesquik Bunny, Connie the Shoemaker, and many more. These masterminds took up residence long ago in a highly protected lair in an exceptionally secret location. 'Hilfiger's Lair,' this impenetrable base has been (oh so originally) named, though by who, it is impossible to tell._

_Fear not, my friends, for there is still hope, however minimal it may be. A small assembly of resistors still lives in the sewers of North America, struggling to live the unbranded life... There is little they can do to fight the onslaught of swoosh-sporting zombies in the outside world. Recently, however, the band of survivors has acquired an omen of sorts – a little black instruction book of sorts left to them as a series of warnings and clues many years ago by a mysterious Naomi Klein..._

**

* * *

**

**CHAPTER ONE: NEW BRANDED WORLD**

No matter how hard Dweezil tried to make us understand, we simply couldn't grasp the concept of a 'Web' of brands and all the other nonsense he was ranting on about. Rather depressingly, if a batty old man like him was able to comprehend Mrs Klein's ahead-of-her-time gibberish, we should have had no trouble with it at all. That wasn't really the case.

"Let me get this straight," Marshall said slowly. "We're spiders?"

"No, you dung beetle, i'ss all figurative. But yeh, I s'pose that's the main idea." expectation

Karen wasn't satisfied. "I don't like this at all. Why can't we just go and surrender to the dark side?"

Keith was getting more fed up with her by the minute. "Would you _listen _to yourself?"

Karen pouted and folded her arms.

Dweezil called us back to attention. "Oi! Nincompoops! Now ain't the time for dilly-dally. We needs to work, and fast. If yeh can all begin to understand the principles, then we can get started on this quest."

We nodded obediently, and listened carefully to Dweezil's attempted explanation. He told us the significance of the magic numbers – one, three and four: the chapters we needed to search for the clues we would be needing for our "quest." We then looked through the first code-ridden chapter underneath the light of the sewer grate.

"'The top half," Keith read aloud, "Coca-Cola, Disney, Microsoft – are pure "players" in brainware.' It all makes sense. Klein is a genius!"

"An' you'd do well to remember that," Dweezil grunted.

"'The brands would be alright, Wall Street concluded, so long as they believed fervently in the principles of branding and never, ever blinked.'" I looked up at Dweezil. "I suppose that means if we can make them 'blink,' then that will weaken them?"

"Clever girl," Dweezil smiled almost manically, elated that somebody was at last catching on to his crazy theories. But perhaps they weren't so crazy after all.

"I actually GET it!" Marshall cried out ecstatically, punching the air. "I understand. Isn't it just amazing?"

"Indeed it is." Keith shook his head at Marshall, clearly questioning his mental capacity.

"So what's the first step?" Bella asked Dweezil.

"Er... that's wot I'm still a bit foggy about." The old man scratched behind his ear, staring absently at the pages of the book.

"Well, I say we take action against this whole Web thing," Keith suggested, his tone one of leadership as always. "Take out the weakest link, like Dweezil said."

We waited until nightfall. Then, taking nothing but the clothes on our backs and the sacred book, we climbed a rope and made the escape from our horrid dungeon of a home. I breathed the night air in deeply; it had been a long time since I'd come in contact with anything so pure.

"This-a-way," Dweezil sang, setting off down a path that would carry us – presumably – east. We followed, wary, until our guide stopped in front of a hut – windows painted, shaped like a shoe.

"Who wants ta do the honours?"

"Er... _what_ honours?" I inquired.

"The kidnappin', o' course!"

Marshall put up his hand. "Me!" he cried excitedly. "Oh, pick me!"

"Stop behavin' like a child," Dweezil scolded. "If yeh make much more noise, Hilfiger 'imself is gonna hear yeh."

"Sorry," Marshall whispered, then darted into the hut. Moments later, he returned with something slung over his shoulder. At first I thought it was just a hunk of junk, but when Marshall placed it on the ground I could see that it was a living being – a swoosh on legs.

"Ugh," Karen (who had grudgingly come along on the heist) complained. "That's revolting."

The swoosh-on-legs stirred, but did not wake. Who knew – was it sleeping at all? Or just in a state of hibernation while Hilfiger and the others slept, unable to tend to the universal controls?

"Okay," Keith said, "now we get it somewhere remote – somewhere without any brands in sight."

It was a difficult feat, finding a space that wasn't marked in some way, but after digging a twelve-metre-deep hole in the middle of the forest, we were ready to get started. Marshall gleefully dumped a bucket of water on the swoosh, and it began to cough and sputter with a mouth that I couldn't see. It looked like it was having a fit. Its body began to morph in and out of the swoosh shape, struggling to become human again, flickering between different logos. At one point it had an apple for a head – Marshall laughed delightedly at this. Finally, it settled back into human form, admittedly somewhat demented by the ordeal it had just been through.

"What is your name?" Keith asked it.

"McArthur McMcPhee."

"Poor soul." Bella shook her head.

Keith carried on with the interrogation.

"Where are your masters?"

"Hilfiger's Lair. Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger's Lair."

"Right." Keith cleared his throat. "And where can we find that?"

The swoosh pointed feebly up at the sky. At first it was difficult to see what McArthur was showing us, but then it was suddenly visible – jutting out from the horizon, a large green hill with "Hollywood" spelled out in white letters across its width.

"How very original," I said.

"Alright, swooshy," Keith continued, "one last question, and we'll let you go. Who is the _weakest link_ of all your Masters?"

"Nesquik-" A dart flew out of the darkness and pierced through McArthur's neck. "Bunny...," he wheezed, and turned into chocolate.

"Quick!" Keith said. "We've been seen! We have to get out of here!"

Abandoning our prisoner, we climbed out of the hole and bolted away, heading for the caves we knew to be just near here. Once safe, we caught our breaths and conferred once again.

"So it's the rabbit," said Keith.

"Oh, I do love rabbits!" Marshall squealed.

"Shut up, Marshall."

"Sorry."

"I guess now we need to get to the lair... at least we know where it is, now."

I nodded. "And once we find the Nesquik Bunny? Then what do we do?"

Dweezil, who I realised now should certainly have fallen behind during the recent run, appeared out of nowhere, startling us all. "Make it uncertain. Stop the darn thing believin' in Hilfiger an' all that rubbish."

"But how are we going to do that?" Bella wondered.

"S'time to consult the book again."

* * *

**A/N:** Yes, just a _tiny_ bit of inspiration from Star Wars there... I probably owe that a disclaimer, too. Consider this an unofficial one. So yeah, if this story hasn't driven you totally crazy yet... read on to find out exactly how the Nesquik Bunny can help them save the world. Or do what I did and get all distracted by the thought of chocolate milk... Mmmm... Reviews, anybody? Seriously, even if you hate it - just tell me that.


	3. Alt Everything

**Disclaimer:** All of the brands and characters (Tommy Hilfiger, the Nesquik Bunny, etc.) are not my property. _No Logo_ belongs to Naomi Klein, as do the chapter names and the ideas involved.

**A/N: **This is a _very_ crazy "short" story I wrote for an English reading journal in response to Naomi Klein's non-fiction book, _No Logo_. Seriously, I can't believe I actually handed it in to my teacher. He's going to think I'm a nutcase. Anyway, if that hasn't put you off, here's the deal: You don't need to have read _No_ _Logo_ for this to make sense. Hell, it doesn't even make sense on its own. The chapters here line up with the chapters in the book, but they're so loosely related that it doesn't matter. I'm counting on about... oh, 0% of you having read _No Logo_, so I wouldn't have posted this if understanding it were completely dependent on having read the book. Anyway, enjoy. And don't say I didn't warn you about the undisguised lunacy.

A quick note on this chapter: I know it skips from Chapter One to Chapter Three, but just try to ignore that. The assignment required me to write about chapters one, three and four - hence Dweezil's "magic numbers" - because apparently, two wasn't important enough. So no, it's not just me sucking at math (although under any other circumstances, it very well could be).

* * *

**The Labelled Age:  
**_The Saga of the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger  
and those intent on his destruction_

_The following takes place fifty-two years beyond this day and age, when the world is no longer in the hands of humanity; when life itself has been extinguished by the concept of branding, which has grown to such an extent that living beings have become nothing more than walking, talking brands. It is a time when no person and no inanimate object exists that has not conformed to the very shape of the world's largest names._

_This time has come to be known as the Labelled Age._

_But there are few left to experience it. The word 'brainwashed' has taken on an utterly different meaning after all that branding has done to the world. Only the creators of this new world still have the minds to which they are rightfully entitled – the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger (some may have known him simply as "Tommy" at one time), Master Ronald McDonald, the somewhat pathetic Nesquik Bunny, Connie the Shoemaker and many more. These masterminds took up residence long ago in a highly protected lair in an exceptionally secret location. 'Hilfiger's Lair,' this impenetrable base has been (oh so originally) named, though by who, it is impossible to tell._

_Fear not, my friends, for there is still hope, however minimal it may be. A small assembly of resistors still lives in the sewers of North America, struggling to live the unbranded life... There is little they can do to fight the onslaught of swoosh-sporting zombies in the outside world. Recently, however, the band of survivors has acquired an omen of sorts – a little black instruction book of sorts left to them as a series of warnings and clues many years ago by a mysterious Naomi Klein..._

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE: ALT. EVERYTHING**

"'_Sure_,'" Marshall quoted, "'_there were plenty of young people who considered their culture "alternative" or "underground"'_... Sounds a lot like us!"

"Arr," Dweezil agreed. "Spiders."

The rest of us simply nodded, not quite getting the point, and carried on reading.

"Hey!" Keith broke the moment of silence. "What's this about brands having identity crises?"

"S'exactly what empowers 'em," Dweezil explained. "Their identity – they lose it, they're nuffin."

Marshall ogled at him. Keith's eyes lit up with inspiration, and Karen grimaced, as always, at the concept of yet another task.

"So what if...," Keith pondered, "we made the rabbit have some sort of crisis? Would that be a way of... you know, eliminating him from the Web?"

Dweezil clapped Keith on the back so hard that Keith stumbled over and yelped in pain. The old loonie didn't seem to notice, but rather let out a few celebratory whistles. "Good thinkin', m'man! I'ss _just_ what we need."

Keith winced, still hunched over, and gave Dweezil a thumbs-up. Bella tried to help Keith up while Dweezil skipped ahead, out of the cave, without us. "C'mon, slow pokes! This ain't no time for dilly-dally!"

The trek up the hill wasn't an easy one – we were constantly on alert for the authority, fearing another episode like the one with the poisonous darts back in the forest. Luck was on our side, though, and we made it to the base of the "Hollywood" hill without encountering any trouble.

It turned out I made that judgement too soon, though – giant, creepy Mickey Mouse replicas were swarming the front entrance, armed with unidentifiable weapons – though they held a strange resemblance to bazookas. Marshall shuddered at the sight of them, and Karen refused to take even one step closer. We had to look for a side entrance in order to complete our mission.

Luckily enough, Dweezil seemed to have a sixth sense, and located a secret trap door in the grass on the side of the hill. He ushered us all through, and we fell down what seemed to be a giant waterslide, landing in a pool at the bottom. Karen shrieked as soon as she hit the water – Marshall was happy as can be, splashing Karen in the face and initiating a game of _Marco Polo_.

"Move along, ninnies," Dweezil warned, wading through the water with some trouble. "We're 'ere strictly on business matters."

It wasn't long before we – or rather, Marshall – noticed that the water wasn't, in fact, water at all. It was chocolate milk - enough to fill the entire pool. Marshall pulled a giant straw out of thin air and began guzzling away at the seemingly endless supply, but Keith stopped him after the first two mouthfuls.

"Cut it out, Marshall. Don't you see? It's a trap. This is the very essence of Nestle branding."

Marshall didn't look as though he knew the meaning of the word "essence," but, reluctantly, he discarded the straw and continued to plough forward. Eventually, we reached a dead end, where a solid wall of rock was in between us and our destination.

"Dang it," Marshall said, "I guess we'll just have to sit here and drink this pool after all... you know, just so we don't die of starvation or nothing..." He reached for the straw with hopeful eyes, but Keith slapped his hand, silencing him.

"Hey, what's this?" Bella asked, wading over to the wall and pointing out a small switchboard amongst the rocks.

"Looks like a switchboard" was Keith's intelligent remark.

"Ooh!" Marshall exclaimed. "I wonder what this does!" He pressed a large red button labelled "DETONATE." The rest of us gasped. But nothing happened. The wall simply opened up, allowing a computer to emerge just at elbow height. "PASSWORD?" the screen demanded.

"Oh, a riddle! I love these!" Marshall's eyes were excited.

"S'not a riddle, potato brain. S'just a password. An' we don't know it." Dweezil folded his arms, annoyed.

"So we're stuck here until we can figure out the password?" I asked, knowing the answer already. Keith nodded at me, and I sighed.

"What a pity," Marshall commented, "to be stuck here in this giant pool full of chocolate milk..." His hand was inching toward the straw again.

"Don't you _dare_." Keith's glare was fierce enough to discourage Marshall for good.

"Think," said Bella. "There's got to be _some _way to figure out this password. Maybe it's something obvious? They can't be expecting too many visitors, with a town full of zombies."

"She's right," Keith said. He moved toward the keyboard, tried several easy words like "Hilfiger," "brand," and "logo," but to no avail. The screen continued to boast the words "YOU CAN'T GET IN."

"Oh, this looks like fun!" Marshall shoved Keith out of the way, wanting his turn. He typed in "gorilla," "banana," and "Bob," as well as a few childish "naughty" words that he added with a giggle. "I've got it!" he suddenly exclaimed, and tapped in "password."

Karen rolled her eyes. "Why do we drag this freak along with us?" And, despite his twenty-two years, Marshall burst into tears.

"Karen, that was rude," Bella said, patting Marshall on the back. Karen simply shrugged.

My mind was preoccupied. "Dweezil, could I see that book again?"

"If you insist...," he grumbled, pulling the tattered volume out of his trenchcoat pocket and handing it to me.

I flipped it open to the beginning of the third chapter, and suddenly, it was right there.

"I've got it!" I called out, shuffling toward the computer. But how to do this...? I pressed down the "ALT" key with my right index finger. "Marshall, come over here." He stepped closer, and I shoved his head into the keyboard, pressing down all the keys at once. The computer buzzed at first, but then let out a congratulatory "Ding!" and was sucked back into the rocks. The whole wall began to rotate, then, and we slipped through the crack that was rapidly opening. Once the wall had flipped completely, we all exhaled in relief. Marshall was rubbing his head.

"What was that for, Clover?"

"I needed your help. You were the only one with a big enough forehead."

"What?"

"Yeah, how did you do that, anyway?" Keith was wondering.

"Easy," I said with a grin. "Alt-Everything!"

Everyone burst out laughing except for Marshall, who simply didn't get it. I suddenly noticed that Karen and Dweezil were missing from the group, and gasped.

"Where are Dweezil and Karen?"

"I don't know!" Bella was shocked, too. "I guess they weren't quick enough to get through the wall?"

We all bowed our heads for a few moments. Would our friends be stuck in the chocolatey chamber forever? If we could find some way of taking Hilfiger down, I guessed not. But that was _much_ easier said than done...

"We'd best get moving," Keith suggested, breaking the silence, and we all moved forward without saying anything more. Finally, we came to a tiny hole in the wall, and clambered through.

There, in the room (still chocolate-filled), sat the Nesquik Bunny, looking thoroughly saturated with chocolate milk and extremely dazed.

"Hey, wazzup?" it asked us.

"Uh, we're here to talk to you," Bella said hesitantly.

The Bunny hiccupped. "Really? 'Ave some chocolate milk! There's plenty to go around."

Marshall looked hopeful, but Keith declined the offer. "No, thanks. We're very serious, Nesquik Bunny."

The Bunny squinted, hiccupped again, and sunk lower into its chair. The chair seemed to be melting slowly into the chocolate pool. "What'dyousayagain?"

Keith sighed impatiently. "We're here to negotiate with you." He stepped over to the Bunny's chair, and yanked the stupid creature up by its long ears. "So you'd better answer our questions, or else."

The threat seemed to have little impact on the Bunny. I was beginning to wonder if perhaps there was something more than chocolate in the pool that surrounded us. Marshall had, after all, taken a few gulps, and he was starting to hiccup now, too.

"What ya wanna know?" the Bunny asked, taking a large swig from the pool.

Keith set it down on the table, and ushered Bella forward. She was training to be a therapist when the takeover happened, so this job was perfect for her.

"Bunny, what was your childhood like?"

The rabbit's eyes began to water immediately. "What? Oh, I don't wanna talk about it... very traumatising..."

Bella winked at us to signal that this was going to be a success. "Well, maybe we can help you get over your memories?"

The Nesquik Bunny sniffed. "Maybe."

"Were you teased as a young rabbit?"

It burst into tears. "Of course I was! 'Oh look, there goes Furball!' 'Do your ears hang low, do they wobble to and fro, can you tie 'em in a knot, can you tie 'em in a bow...'" His song drifted off into somber silence. "An' then Hilfiger found me, and he was just as bad as any of them. Called me a druggie, he did." I really did have to wonder if that claim might have some truth to it. "And then he said that if I didn't join his Ultimate Brand Power Gang, I would never, _ever_ be cool. So what was I to do? What was I to DO?" he wailed.

"There, there, Bunny. That sounds very troublesome indeed. But you know what? I've got an idea for you."

"Oh yeah?" the furry creature looked up with hopeful eyes.

"Yes, I do. I think you should stand up to Lord Hilfiger once and for all."

The Bunny was suddenly very determined. "Yeah! I think I will!"

"The good news," Bella said with a sly smile in our direction, "is that we're on our way to do just that. Would you care to join the team?"

The Nesquik Bunny nodded fervently, and dove into the chocolate, leading the way. "Follow me!" it exclaimed joyfully. "Yippee!"

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, so, uh... I know Nesquik Druggie is a little disturbing. That's the main reason this is rated T instead of K (because, as you've probably noticed, the rest of this is remarkably tame). Again, if you can get past the fact that none of this makes any sense whatsoever, a review would be very much appreciated. If you can't... well, I don't blame you.


	4. The Branding of Learning

**Disclaimer:** All of the brands and characters (Tommy Hilfiger, the Nesquik Bunny, etc.) are not my property. _No Logo_ belongs to Naomi Klein, as do the chapter names and the ideas involved.

**A/N: **This is a _very_ crazy "short" story I wrote for an English reading journal in response to Naomi Klein's non-fiction book, _No Logo_. Seriously, I can't believe I actually handed it in to my teacher. He's going to think I'm a nutcase. Anyway, if that hasn't put you off, here's the deal: You don't need to have read _No_ _Logo_ for this to make sense. Hell, it doesn't even make sense on its own. The chapters here line up with the chapters in the book, but they're so loosely related that it doesn't matter. I'm counting on about... oh, 0% of you having read _No Logo_, so I wouldn't have posted this if understanding it were completely dependent on having read the book. Anyway, enjoy. And don't say I didn't warn you about the undisguised lunacy.

This is the final chapter, folks! I'm sorry it took so long for me to post it (or, well, to remember that I had not, in fact, uploaded all four chapters yet. Somehow, that escaped my mind...). But I have to say, four reviews... best encouragement EVER. (Please, forgive me my sarcasm - seriously, for a fic classified in Miscellaneous, I'm sure this one's doing quite nicely.)

* * *

**The Label****led Age:  
**_The Saga of the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger  
__and those intent on his destruction_

_The following takes place fifty-two years beyond this day and age, when the world is no longer in the hands of humanity; when life itself has been extinguished by the concept of branding, which has grown to such an extent that living beings have become nothing more than walking, talking brands. It is a time when no person and no inanimate object exists that has not conformed to the very shape of the world's largest names._

_This time has come to be known as the Label__l__ed Age._

_But there are few left to experience it. The word 'brainwashed' has taken on an utterly different meaning after all that__ branding__ ha__s__ done to the world. Only the creators of this new world still have the minds to which they are rightfully entitled – the Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger (some may have known him simply as "Tommy" at one time), Master __R__onald McDonald, the somewhat pathetic Nesquik Bunny, Connie the Shoemaker, and many more. These masterminds took up residence long ago in a highly protected lair in an exceptionally secret location. 'Hilfiger's Lair,' this impenetrable base has been (oh so originally) named, though by who, it is impossible to tell._

_Fear not, my friends, for there is still hope, however minimal it may be. A small assembly of resistors still lives in the sewers of North America, struggling to live the unbranded life... There is little they can do to fight the onslaught of swoosh-sporting zombies in the outside world. Recently, however, the band of survivors has acquired an omen of sorts – a little black instruction book __of sorts __left to them as a series of warnings and clues many years ago by a mysterious Naomi Klein..._

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR: THE BRANDING OF LEARNING**

We were in the very heart of Hilfiger's Lair within minutes. I never thought it could be this easy. But with one of _them_ on our side, anything was possible – hopefully, that meant that defeating this "Web of Brands" would be possible, too.

Hilfiger was a squat man, with a polished head and a russet mustache, a not-so-trim figure and clothes better suited to somebody working in the mines.

"Evil Dark Lord... Hilfiger?" Marshall was just as shocked at his appearance as I was.

Hilfiger, however, was outraged. "Nesquik Bunny? What is the meaning of this? I presume you've escorted them here for the little "talk" I promised them?"

"No," the Bunny said defiantly. "I've come to stand up to you – once and for all. And so have they."

"What?" Hilfiger couldn't believe his ears, evidently. "Excuse me?"

The Bunny hiccupped, detracting from the effect. "Yeah, that's right. I'm done with taking orders from you – I can be _cool_ on my own!"

"Yeah, you get 'em, Bunny Boy!" Marshall shouted.

The Bunny turned to us. "What do you need me to do to him?"

"We just have to ask him a few questions, that's all," Keith told it.

"No problem." Bunny turned back to Hilfiger, withdrew a flask of the chocolatey substance from the other chambers, and threw it in his former master's face.

"What was that?" I asked the Bunny.

"It's truth potion." He shrugged. "Comes in handy sometimes."

Hilfiger sneezed, shaking himself, but some of the potion had gotten into his mouth, and it was affecting him already.

"Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger," Keith began, "why must you continue to brainwash the good people of planet Earth? Is it not enough for you that all the world is at your feet?"

Hilfiger coughed. His voice was strained, held back, but he couldn't keep the words from flowing. "I... I seek total domination. There is nothing that pleases me more than manipulating the mind of the human being. Nothing is ever enough for me. There is no limit to my power – I will continue to find new ways of spreading the Brands until not just the planet, but the entire universe and every universe beyond is under my control."

We exchanged wary glances.

"Okay..." Keith changed the subject. "Does it bother you that brands have no meaning anymore?"

Hilfiger scoffed. "Of course they have meaning! If not to the rest of the world, then to me they cerainly do. It is my identity, and I will do anything to protect my identity."

Marshall stepped in, itching with excitement. I wondered what kind of catastrophic idea he had planned. "And your minions," he asked, "do you plan to share your limitless power with them?" I could hardly believe the words were coming out of _Marshall's _mouth.

"WHY would I SHARE my power? My minions mean nothing to me. You hear me? NOTHING."

All at once, workers from around the Lair stepped in from various doors and threw their badges on the ground, muttering "I quit" and "bless your twisted soul, _Lord_ Hilfiger."

"Wow, that was actually really smart!" Keith gave Marshall a well-earned high five. "So now, Hilfiger, the most important question." He paused for dramatic effect. "What is your primary means of inserting the concept of branding into the human brain?"

Hilfiger's face was pained, indecisive, but the truth potion was still at full strength. "It's... it's... schools. We work it into the curriculum. Teach them of nothing but brands, so that they don't think of anything else. Simple."

I suddenly thought of a line from the sacred book – something about brands becoming the core curriculum, not just an add-on or a constant exposure in schools. If it was the _only _thing they were learning about, then of course they would be totally brainwashed! And now, if we could somehow seize control of the global education system, we could fix that. We could save future generations from the same agony we'd gone through all this time.

"Where are the control boxes?" Keith asked. It was clear from his voice that he knew we were getting close now.

"Right... there." Hilfiger pointed reluctantly at a giant black cube in the middle of the room. The Bunny leapt over and pressed a button on the cube; a thousand control panels shot out all at once, so that half of the room at least was filled with buttons and screens.

"Now," Keith ordered, "you'll let us take over, and fix this mess you've made." He lifted a hand, ready to bring it down on the "Reset" key.

"No."

We were all shocked.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. No. I will not let you take over. I've worked too hard."

Keith shook his head angrily. "You are an evil, evil man, Hilfiger."

"What makes you say that?" The potion, clearly, was wearing off. Hilfiger was becoming more himself.

"You killed my father!" Keith fumed, clenching his hands into fists. "How could I forgive you for that?"

Hilfiger's face was rigid. "No, Keith. I _am_ your father."

Keith blinked in surprise. Then, as it registered in his mind, his ear-piercing scream shattered the window panes. "Noooooooooo! It's not true!" He crumpled to the floor, his face twisted in agony, his hands held out in front of him in despair.

"Leave him," I warned, as Marshall put out a hand to comfort the blubbering Keith. "Let us finish this. Bella, do your thing. Nesquik Bunny, a little more potion, if you please?"

With a little more potion, Bella was able to work her magic again – Hilfiger, it seemed, had a very troubled past as well. Many bullies, family tragedies and self-esteem issues were involved, and he ranted for several hours about each of them in detail. By the end of it all, he was as much a mess as Keith, who hadn't moved since the shocking revelation.

"So, Tommy," Marshall sneered triumphantly, making the great Dark Lord cry harder, "you'll be relinquishing power, I assume?" His vocabulary sure had evolved in the past few hours.

Hilfiger sniffed. "Oh, alright. But only for now. Because I, the great Evil Dark Lord Hilfiger, will return. Mark my words!" And with that, Lord Hilfiger flew out the broken window. That was the last we saw of him.

"I guess we should do some fiddling, then?" I suggested, traipsing over to the controls.

Marshall beat me to it, jamming his finger into the "Reset" button before I could even get close. "HAHA!" he bragged. I rolled my eyes.

The three of us – dragging an incoherent Keith along by the arms and legs – made our way back to the chocolate room, where we found Dweezil. Karen, he told us, had guzzled a little too much "chocolate milk" and was floating down the river somewhere, barely alert but happy, at the very least.

"What 'appened to 'im?" Dweezil growled, slapping Keith on the face. He didn't respond in anyway.

"He found out Hilfiger was his father." Marshall shrugged. Keith yelled something unintelligible and started ripping his own hair out.

Dweezil ignored him. "And what of 'Ilfiger 'imself?"

"Escaped." Again, Marshall shrugged. Dweezil looked about ready to belt him one square in the face.

"And wha' if 'e comes back?" he cried, outraged.

"Then we'll have to fight him again," I said. "But if he does, I don't think he'll be the same. Bella and that Bunny damaged him pretty good."

"You never know, though," Bella warned. "He might do the same thing all over again, someday."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But either way, we're going to have to work out a compromise – because, as much as we hate brands by this point, I learned something from this experience – we'll always have to live with idiots like Hilfiger, because 'unbranded space is still not possible.'"

Never mind that my final words of wisdom were quoted directly from the book.

* * *

**A/N:** So there you have it. An epic (-cough-) tale of courage complete with the lamest ending lines in history. Thanks for taking the time to read it, and I hope it was bearable. I know by now you probably don't have a very positive opinion of me as a writer (at least where the plot is concerned) so allow me to refer you now to my other story, The Marauders and the Rogues, which (in my opinion) is FAR better than this one. And guess what? It actually makes sense!

(Also, I apologise for continually using Star Wars scenes/lines/etc. There are just so many epic moments to be stolen. For the record, I admit that I have shamelessly copied for nothing more than comedic effect, and acknowledge that I do not own any of it. If only...)


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